Just Partners
by gilmorefanforever
Summary: A place for my ideas when they have nowhere else to go. It'll be mostly BB and mostly very short. Latest-- After: Booth watches Brennan while she sleeps and wonders what happens next.
1. Staring

**Disclaimer: **The only bones I own are the 206 in my body. The one I'd rather have belongs to Hart Hanson, Kathy Reichs and the people over at Fox.

My muse is cruel. I beg her for ideas, she gives them, finally, but when I write them, they turn out maybe five or six hundred words. Sometimes less. Yeah... not a story. But I write them anyway, and some of them don't totally suck. So I thought I'd share them with you as I await my next idea and work on my first Bones chapter story.

This first one starts way, way back. Pre-series.

**--**

**Staring**

He's staring at you again.

You're not positive why, but it's making you slightly uncomfortable. Not that there's a reason to be. He's not dangerous, not planning on causing you any harm. You're working with him to solve a murder, that's all. But his unbreaking gaze sends a ripple of feeling down your back and you try to think of way to move out of his line of sight. Is that something on the left femur? That will work. You cross over to the other side of the autopsy table, and glance back up.

He's still watching.

This is ridiculous. You can't let him distract you from your job. Turning your attention back to the remains on the table, you notice that you were in fact right. There, on the left femur, is a fracture, healed now, but a fracture nonetheless.

"The victim broke their leg when they were younger," you comment. Stay professional. That's all he is. A colleague.

"Good to know, Bones," he replies with a nod.

Bones. It's not the most creative nickname, but it's affective. You hate it. He knows this, too. It's why he's so insistent on calling you by it at every possible moment. It seems irrational that a single word can sound so condescending, so degrading, but it does. You're not his equal. Not in his eyes.

But he keeps working with you. Usually, by now, agents have fled the lab, terrified of what they call "Squint Speak", intimidated by your intelligence. But not him. He seems stronger than that, which should be a relief. You were beginning to lose faith in today's law enforcement. But you almost wish he wasn't able to put up with you. He's becoming difficult to work with.

You look up again. This time, he catches your eye, raising an eyebrow and smiling. He's tried this before. That smile... For a moment, you consider smiling back at him, at least you want to, but you know you can't. This is the last man you want to get on friendly terms with. You ammend your previous statement. He is dangerous. Not physically so, but dangerous nonetheless.

And he's still staring at you. Why? You try to tell yourself that it's only because you're working, and he wants to know what's going on. But you think he would've looked away by now, if that were the case. So what is it? Does he find you attractive? That would be... complicated.

Or maybe he's just as confused about you as you are about him. You haven't worked together that many times, you know almost nothing about each other. If you tried to make a list of all the things you know about him, it would be disappointingly short. Disappointingly? Where did that come from? You remind yourself that you want to have as little to do with this man outside the lab as possible. You turn back to the remains. Bones have always been your way to get away from your feelings, your problems. But he's still there.

With one last look up, you realize you can't concentrate with his eyes on you. It's useless. You look at him pointedly.

"I'll call you if I find anything else important, Agent Booth."

He grins again, then turns to leave with a quick, "See you then, Bones." And although you would never admit it to anyone...

You wish he was still staring.


	2. Contact

This isn't my favorite one, but I still think it's worth posting.

**--**

**Contact**

"No one likes to be alone, Booth. Not all the time." She took a sip of her drink before setting it down and continuing. "Human beings crave-- _need_-- contact with others of their kind."

"Contact," he echoed in a whisper, his fingers trailing down her forearm. His thumb followed closely behind them, attempting to relax the muscle that had tensed at his initial touch.

Their eyes met, unspoken questions poorly concealed on both faces. His was answered with her softly repeating herself. "No one likes to be alone, Booth."

His lips curled into a small smile as he lifted his hand from her arm to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Letting the hand fall to her cheek, he gently tilted her face up. "You aren't, Bones," he assured her, bringing his lips to hers with the silent promise that she never would be.


	3. Luck

**Luck**

Temperance Brennan believed luck was an illogical concept, but even she had to admit that there was no other way to describe the day she had had other than very, very unlucky. After a late night at the lab the night before, she had collapsed into her bed, forgetting to set her alarm in the process. This caused her to wake up nearly two and a half hours late, which made her late to work as well, giving Angela a reason to question her incessantly. No, she didn't "get some last night". She hadn't "gotten some" for quite some time. Thanks for the reminder, Ange.

After finally convincing Angela that her sex life was not the most important topic at the moment, Brennan was introduced to her newest grad student, Amy. Amy was her complete opposite: perky, loud, and blonde. When Amy had momentarily confused the left and right femurs, Brennan had fired her on the spot, meaning she would have a large stack of applications to sort through when she got home.

She could practically hear Booth's voice her head. "That's what... six? Seven grad students? Look, Bones, you can't expect any of these kids to be Zack." She shook her head. That wasn't why she was firing her assistants. She was completely aware that no one could be Zack, as that was physically impossible.

Finally, the day was over. With a manila folder thrown on her passengers seat, she drove home as quickly as she could. The sky had darkened in almost the blink of an eye, and it had dropped at least ten degrees.

She was halfway to her building when the first drops of rain hit her, and within steps, more and more began to fall, soaking her.

"Perfect," she mumbled, closing her eyes in irritation. To top off everything that had happened that day, now she was probably going to catch a cold. Or, at this rate, pneumonia.

Suddenly, the rain stopped. Or, at least, it seemed to. But that didn't seem rational. She opened her eyes, and sure enough, the rain was coming down just as hard as before.

"Bones!" exclaimed a voice just behind her. She couldn't help but smile. _Of course_.

"What are you doing here, Booth?"

"Just checking up on my favorite forensic anthropologist." He shifted the large umbrella he was holding slightly. "Good thing I did, too. Did you, by any chance, notice it was raining?"

She laughed. "Is that what that was?"

"Yep. You think someone as smart as you would know not to stand out in the rain. You could get sick or something. Now, why don't we go inside? You can treat me to a beer for saving you from dying of hypothermia."

And it was in the rain, as her partner's free hand fell to the small of her back, that Brennan's day suddenly got a lot better.

**One week until new Bones! Yaayy! **


	4. Identity

**Identity **

"My name is Brennan. I'm Dr. –" She stopped to take a calming breath, which did little to help. McVicar scoffed at her, leaving the barn, and Booth looked on with a concerned expression as she tried to reassure herself with facts. "I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan. I work at the Jeffersonian Institution. I'm a Forensic Anthropologist. I specialize in identif–" her voice broke, but she remained determined to finish. "in identifying– in identifying people when nobody knows who they are. My father was a science teacher. My mother was a bookkeeper." To her dismay, tears had started to form, making her surroundings turn blurry. " My brother– I have a brother." Despite her attempts to brush them away, salty droplets of water began to drip down her face. "I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan."

"I know who you are," Booth told her. She didn't believe him. "Hey. I know."

How could he possibly know? She wasn't even sure anymore. Was she Temperance Brennan-- the scientist, the former foster child, the bestselling author-- or Joy Keenan, the daughter of two criminals? Of a man who had possibly murdered his own wife, her mother?

How could one's identity slip away out from under them so suddenly? Just a few days before, she had been confident in herself, in who she was. Her parents had abandoned her at fifteen. Her brother had followed soon after, and from that moment on, she had strived to makes something of herself. Of Temperance Brennan.

But now she was being told that she wasn't Temperance Brennan at all. She was Joy Keenan. And Joy Keenan was no one. It was as if the last fifteen years of her life were now meaningless.

She looked to her partner. He seemed convinced he knew exactly who she was. And that was when it hit her. To Booth, she wasn't Temperance Brennan _or_ Joy Keenan. She was Bones. Bones his partner.

She hated the nickname. But at the moment, it was the one shred of herself she knew she could rely on.


	5. Wrong

**AN: **I have no idea where this came from. It is, by the way, the closest thing to smut I will probably ever write.

**Wrong **

This is wrong. Every neuron in your brain screams "Stop! Think!" You try to listen, but their cries are drowned out by every bone, muscle, and nerve ending in your body ordering you to do the exact opposite. To stop thinking about the consequences. To stop trying to analyze every second. To close your eyes and just let him… have you.

You really should stop, you know. Nothing stays the same after sex. Nothing. And you've never been good with change, especially when the thing changing is as important as your friendship with him. What if you wake up tomorrow and he can't look you in the eye? Or he smiles at you, and you don't feel anything? What if you discover that this is all a fluke; that the attraction you were so sure was there didn't really exist?

What if this isn't worth it?

But as he places kisses slowly down your neck, and your fingers grab hold of the sheet below you, you know that there's no turning back now. Your head falls back against your pillow, and your brain shuts down, letting only one final coherent thought hit you. It comes out as a sigh.

"Booth…"


	6. Gum

_Relax,_ you tell yourself. _It's just Bones. It's just a kiss. It doesn't even mean anything. It's just Bones. _

That's the problem, of course. It's _Bones_. It's your partner who's carefully explaining that you need to kiss her. She's the one who's offering you a piece of gum.

You have a few questions, of course. Is this really the only thing she could do? How is she being so nonchalant about this? And who the hell actually says _puckish_? Of course, your mouth stopped working properly the second you realized that she wasn't joking, so you keep all your thoughts to yourself.

Caroline just walked in. This isn't real, is it? This is just your subconscious finding a new way to screw with you. Well congratulations subconscious, it worked. You just really want to wake up now. There is no way you're going to let this be how you first kiss Temperance Brennan.

You quickly learn that it's too late for you to have any say in the matter, because she's grabbing your lapels and pressing her mouth against yours. And you can't help it. You respond. And when you feel her begin to really kiss you, you temporarily forget about the fact that this is against her will and that you have a puckish prosecutor watching your every move.

You're kissing Bones.

When you break apart, you're too busy catching your breath to question the fact that she just compared kissing you to kissing her brother. Not that that thought isn't a bit disturbing. Caroline leaves the room, shocked, and you find yourself stuttering something about talking to the forensic guys.

Smooth, Booth. Really.

As you walk out, you realize there's something sticking to the roof of your mouth. For a second, you're confused. You were sure you said no to the gum…

And it hits you. You did. Which means that…

Wow.

"Thanks for the gum," you tell her. Then you pop it back into the mouth, sure that you'll be remembering that… _gum_ for a long time.


	7. Watching

**Watching**

There was something about Temperance Brennan. He found that out the day he met her, when he walked into the lab expecting a typical Squint and instead discovered a beautiful woman who possessed the ability to make him feel like an idiot with a single look.

He had gotten to know her well, arguably better than anyone else. He knew when she was annoyed by the way her eyes flashed, and that when her lip quirked a certain way, she was confused and he needed to explain something. When she was lying, she couldn't look him in the eye, but when she thought she was right, he couldn't get her to look away. Yes, he knew her, but so much about her was still a mystery.

But he planned on figuring it all out. That was why he watched.

His eyes were glued to her back as she examined remains, to the way her hand moved to accentuate a point when she talked on the phone. Even when she was yelling at him, he couldn't help but study the way her lips moved.

And he thought he did a pretty good job hiding it, too, at least a good enough one that she never caught on. Until she did.

They were in the diner after solving a case, and she had just popped a fry into her mouth when she glanced up and commented, "You've been staring at me for nearly five minutes, Booth."

He tensed. "No, I haven't."

Ignoring his stammered denial, she pressed, "Why?"

"Um…" Caught off guard, he had trouble thinking of a sufficient response. And she waited. "I was making sure you didn't steal any of my fries. You always do that."

She nodded slowly, obviously skeptical, then took a sip of her drink. "You could just take a picture." A smirk. "It'll last longer."

So he pulled out his phone and pressed the camera button, capturing her image just before her expression changed from amusement to shock. "To commemorate you actually getting that expression right," he offered, turning the phone so she could see. She shook her head and threw a fry at him.

Later that night he stared at that picture. And while he was beginning to fear he would never fully understand his partner, he had now realized a very important fact about himself. He was in love with her.

_That_ was why he watched.


	8. Natural

**AN: **So, this is dedicated to Dreana, for her birthday. I know I promised a oneshot, but this was all Bella would give to me. It's post-Double Trouble in the Panhandle, with some references to The Woman in the Sand.

**Natural**

It shouldn't be so easy.

You've never been an actress, or even close to it. You had the tendency to—what had Booth referred to it as?—_overact_. However, there were some roles that seemed almost as natural as your real life. You briefly glance down at your flamboyant costume, one of the few things remaining from one such role, and recall how simple it was to step into the role of Wanda Moosejaw. You think you'll hang it up next to the black dress that you keep in the back of your closet, the reminder of another persona, Roxy.

Wanda and Roxy. They were as different from each other as they were from you. So what was it about them that made you almost _want_ to be them? You sigh and take a sip of your coffee, an answer you didn't want hitting you in the form of your own voice spitting quotes at you.

"We're more engaged to engaged," drawls Roxy as she hangs off the shoulder of her companion.

"Where's the Buck Moosejaw I married?" Wanda asks before spinning to shoot a smile at the screaming crowd.

And that's the relative factor, you realize. You hate it, and your first instinct is to deny it, but you know it's true. Roxy and Wanda both possessed the one thing that Temperance Brennan can't have.

Does Brennan even want that, though? Do you even know that answer anymore? Four years ago, even less, staying with one person forever, or considering to do so, for that matter, would be a laughable concept. Love was not something you were interested in, especially with Seeley Booth. But now…

You tap him on the shoulder, knocking him out of his own thoughts as he stares out into the horizon. He turns to you, and you grin. "That sure was interesting, Buck."

He smiles back, and, to your horror, you feel your knees weaken. "It always is, Wanda." Then he blinks, and instead of facing your husband, your partner stands before you. "You ready to blow this joint, Bones?"

"I don't know what that means," you, really you this time, say. You're lying, of course. It means that he's done pretending.

"It means, 'let's get out of here'," he explains, gesturing to the mobile home behind you.

You let him lead you to the door, and when you get there, you turn to him and say, "I want to drive," if only to prove that being just Booth and Brennan is enough for you.

He laughs, like you knew he would. "You're wearing an eye patch!"

It shouldn't be so easy to pretend you're in love with Booth. But it shouldn't be so hard to really feel that way about him, either.


	9. Losing

**Losing**

You can't lose him.

It sounds weak and pathetic to admit to that, but you know it's true, deep down. Life without Seeley Booth wouldn't be remotely barable. You found this out when you thought he was gone forever, during the two worst weeks of your life.

However, those weeks had been nothing compared to the past twenty four hours. The thought you could save him, but you weren't trying hard enough? You hated Hodgins. You hated yourself. Afterall, if you had only offered your help to Hodgins with the case, maybe he wouldn't have needed to steal the evidence. You could have gone through the appropriate channels to get it. Or maybe not, considering who was in charge of the case, but that didn't matter to you.

In the end, you found him. But you were close, so close, _too _close to not making it in time to save him. The explosion whirled around you as you threw yourself at him, beyond relieved to have him back, and held him tightly.

No, losing him was not an option, which was why this time, you weren't planning to let go, not even for a second.

**--**

**AN: **Okay, how freakin' AMAZING was that episode? If I have anything to do with it, this is only the first in a long line of Hero in the Hold related fanfiction.


	10. Bonding

**AN: **Set around "Headless Witch in the Woods."

**Bonding**

"Why did we think this was a good idea again?" Booth asked, sighing and flopping down on a barstool.

"We just got here," I pointed out, following suit. "Maybe it _was_ a good idea and you just don't realize it yet."

Booth continued as if I hadn't spoken. He does that a lot—you get used to it. "That's right! _You_ thought this was a good idea. _I_ wanted to stay at home, on my couch, with my TV, and watch the game."

"And I didn't want to spend another night hearing about the cute pair shoes on sale or how Johnny Depp is the only guy who can be deranged in every movie and still look hot," I shot back. A grin crossed Booth's face, I'm not positive if it was sympathetic or mocking. "I love Angie, really, I do. But I think she forgets sometimes that I'm not a girl."

"Trust me, she knows you're not a girl," he scoffed. I've heard more than enough at work to prove that."

I laughed. "Either way, I needed some guy time, and since my other male colleague is… _Zack_, you win. It's about time you and I fit in some male bonding."

Booth remained skeptical as we ordered drinks, and after several minutes of extremely awkward silence, he spoke up. "So. Male bonding. What do we do exactly?"

Hell if I knew. "Huh. Well, we be… manly." I flexed my arm for emphasis. "And we… bond?"

"You have no idea, do you?" It wasn't a question.

"None."

Booth sighed. "I have this image of sitting around smoking cigars and… talking about the economy."

"Are we comparing golf swings, too?" I muttered, my eyes rolling towards the ceiling.

He shrugged. "Rich guys like cigars, right?"

"Do you know what's in cigars?" For the record, no, I do not like cigars. I like my lungs. Call me crazy.

"No, but I'm sure you do."

"Of course," I replied.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in a deep breath. "I assume you're going to tell me?"

I actually had been planning on it, but I figured Booth got enough scientific explanation from Doctor B to last him awhile. "Nope."

"I'll drink to that." His glass hit mine with a clink before I even had a chance to lift it off the table.

"We could play pool," I suggested. I didn't realize my mistake until Booth turned to glare at me, and I winced. "But we couldn't play for money, because that has the potential to send you down a path of addiction and self loathing and… you know what? Never mind."

His eyes closed in irritation, and for a second, I was sure he would deck me. When his eyes reopened, however, he seemed slightly calmer. "Thanks for the consideration, Jack," he said bitterly.

"Hey, you called me Jack! First name basis… It's a start." Booth wasn't so excited, though, and I decided to admit defeat. "Look, Booth—"

"Hodgins," he cut me off. "I've got it."

"Got what?"

The first smile not at my expense made an appearance. "You and I, my friend, are going to sit here, get drunk, and talk about women."

"_I_ will drink to that!" This time the glass clinking was mutual. The joy, however, was short-lived.

"You're thinking about Angela, aren't you" he asked after a moment.

"Pretty much." Both nodded solemnly and took a drink of his beer. "You thinking about Cam?" I asked.

The question caught him off guard, and for a moment, he seemed to have no idea what I was talking about. Then, a flicker of recognition. "Yeah. I'm thinking about Cam."

My first thought was that FBI agents should be better liars. I opened my mouth to tell Booth this, but abruptly changed my mind and shut it again. Partially, it was because of the way he suddenly found his glass so interesting and also because I was pretty sure we wouldn't hesitate to shoot me. Mostly, though, it was because I'm smart enough to know that wasn't what he needed to hear. "Okay."

Booth looked up, surprised, and stared at me, the way I imagine he stares down suspects in the interrogation room. Then he grinned. "Okay," he echoed. We both downed the rest of our drinks, and Booth leaned back in his stool. "You know, Jack, I think this was a good idea."

"But we'll never do it again?" I guessed.

"When Hell freezes over, Hodgins," he replied brightly. And with that, we clicked together empty cups and ordered another round.


	11. After

**After**

You can't remember exactly how long you've waited for this. It feels like forever, sometimes. Part of you wanted it the moment you first laid eyes on her, a large part, really. And the first time she smiled at you… well, you almost took her right there, didn't you, Booth?

Your eyes haven't left her for half an hour, at least. You might have stopped blinking in that time, too, not wanting to miss a single millisecond. With each rise and fall of her chest, each steady exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale you brace yourself for an alarm to go off, waking you up. Because you must be dreaming, right? This can't be happening. You've waited so long you gave up hope, pushed the possibility out of you mind. Still. Might as well savor it, while you can.

Suddenly, you're really glad she's asleep. You have absolutely no idea how you would explain why the sight of her right now is so captivating to you. The look of complete calm that you've never seen on her face before, maybe? You think it may be her hair, at last spread across your pillow. You gently pick up an auburn lock and twirl it around your finger, smiling when she makes a small noise in her sleep. You don't want this to end. But you can't help wondering…

What happens next?

Your reasoning behind holding back as long as you did make sense. It wasn't like you made up all that stuff about how risky it would be for you—yeah, you were talking about you and her when you made that speech about lines, you admit it—to get involved. Not to mention that you can't imagine losing her. Her friendship. Her partnership. Sex changes things and nothing could be a worse change than that. As if to add to your fears, she chooses that exact moment to roll away from you, and you drop her hair, not wanting to wake her.

With a deep breath and a kiss on the back on her head, you close your eyes and try to get some sleep yourself. Whatever is going to happen can—has to—wait until tomorrow anyway. You shift over so you're next to her, then drape your arm across her stomach.

Might as well savor it, while you can.


End file.
